Miah-1(Lane Brothers, Book 2)(13)

Great, now part of me wants to have little rug rats because I just know Miah would be a great dad.

That thought disappears as he rises and pulls me up from my seat and into his chest. I watch Miah Lane’s head lower slowly towards mine. His hands cup my jaw and tilt my face up to his as his lips settle over mine in a warm heated caress.

The sensation is soft and warm, and yet it hits me so hard that I gasp at the intensity, opening my mouth for his tongue and the growl that reverberates into my mouth.

The kiss he gives me starts slow, just a slide of wet tongues and lips as he pulls me closer and tastes me with languid pleasure. It’s me who gets impatient and pushes closer, my mouth opening wider and sucking at his as need and a lust I haven’t felt, ever, streak through my blood.

Once he gets the message, the real action starts and he devours me in a show of male strength that has me gasping and pulling away to suck air into my lungs.

I’m lightheaded as he pulls me into his arms and just holds me, his heart beating hard enough that it echoes into my chest. I feel his erection poking at my belly.

“I knew you’d be perfect, Clari. I just knew it, babe. That’s why I fought this so hard,” he murmurs into my hair, his lips trailing from my hairline, down my temple, and across my cheek.

“This is a bad idea.”

I’m screaming inside as the words leave my lips, because if this man kisses like he’s at a gourmet feast, I can just imagine what he’d do to my body if I give him that chance.

But someone has to be sensible here. I don’t want future dinners with the Lanes to be awkward if things didn’t work out between us. I’m not willing to lose my adopted family for one or two really good nights with Miah Lane.

“Clari, this is the best idea I’ve ever had, so get used to it. And be ready for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll be by to pick you up at seven. Wear something casual, babe, and sensible shoes.”

“What? We’re not—”

“You’ll be ready at seven or I’ll call Jude and sic her on you.”

“You will not tell your mom—”

“Course I will, babe, she has a knack at getting us Lane boys just what we want, and unfortunately for you, she seems to want you in my life as much as I do. Be ready, or that terror will come knocking and you’ll end up on a chaperoned date not too long after,” he warns before kissing me deep one last time and walking out.

The snick of the lock ricochets all through the room as I stand there stupefied and somewhat amused at his tactics. No man has ever threatened to tell his mommy on me if I didn’t agree to a date, and while I’d be both horrified and laughing my ass off if one did, I find the move endearing and way too amusing to dislike.

I’m still standing in the same spot minutes later, considering my options, when my phone rings in my bag.

“Hello?”

“I forgot to say thank you,” he drawls, making my heart beat faster and my lips tingle at just the sound of his deep voice.

“Thank you?”

I’m a schoolteacher whose idea of fun and entertainment includes watching old reruns of the nineties classics and eating homemade potato chips. What the heck is happening here?

“I forgot to say thank you for the best first kiss I’ve ever had. Sleep tight, Clari,” he whispers before ending the call.

I have to drag my ass to my bedroom on shaky limbs Then I spend the next hour reliving every touch of his lips and every word like some mealy faced teenager.

Thank goodness I don’t have a diary. Or one of those cheesy mixed tapes.

***

Someone is outside. That’s the first thought that pops into my head when I hear footfalls a second before the sound of porcelain shattering reaches my ears.

Correction. Someone is inside right now, and all I’m wearing is an old ratty tank and my granny panties that are gross but so comfortable to sleep in.

Stop that and hide, you ninny!

I dive from the covers and fall to the floor in a lump of limbs and scrambling feet when the unmistakable creak of the old floorboards out in the hall reaches me.

Never having been robbed before—I lived in the ugliest trailer in creation when I was a kid and then a house that made the Kremlin look unguarded—I’m not sure what to do.

Improvising when I’m about to have a panic attack followed by a stroke, I grab my phone from the nightstand and start crawling when it strikes me; the first place anyone would look is the closet. And under the bed.

Shoot, Clara, think girl.

The bathroom cupboard is out because I’ll fit maybe a breast and thigh in the cramped space. And the shower curtain scene gives me the creeps…window seat!

By the time I’m inside the tiny space and slowly lowering the cover, I hear my door creak open slowly and almost screech with nerves. My hands are shaking so much by now that dialing the phone is twice as hard, and the sweaty palms don’t help either.